


A Spectacular Treat

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Christmas, Dom Molly, Dom Molly Hooper, Epilogue, Established Irene Adler/Molly Hooper, F/F, Halloween, Japanese Rope Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, POV Molly Hooper, Present Tense, Sub Irene, Surprises, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Irene has given herself to Molly as a  submissive for a Halloween treat. This is how she chooses to enjoy her treat.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Dressing Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237971) by [Smirkdoctor (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Smirkdoctor). 



> My first remix fic! I had planned on writing this before Halloween but real life got in the way, but on Tumblr I put out a request for Halloween prompts and **Smirkdoctor** told me about this fic she'd written and wanted to add the smut for and I loved it and decided to remix it by writing it from Molly's POV. I've never done an explicit femslash fic before or a present tense story so this was interesting, but I hope you all enjoy. BTW, the knot that I imagine Irene showed up wearing looks like [this](http://fetishweekly.tumblr.com/post/91203058167/shibari-tutorial-weave-harness-always-practice) since **Smirkdoctor** said intricate in her fic.

**October 31st, 2010**

She’s nervous.

She had been sent a very simple text message the night before that had said _Wait for me tomorrow night. A_ And it wasn’t that she didn’t like her visits with Irene. She did. They were...interesting. It wasn’t that they weren’t. They were. But she hadn’t told her to wait before. Usually, the commands (and that was what they were, commands) were more direct.

So tonight, she knows, is going to be...different.

She’s having a glass of wine to steady herself. Or rather, two. Three. A sweet red, her favourite, the kind that isn’t cheap but isn’t expensive. A splurge but not anything to bankrupt her. Oh, it isn’t anything like what Irene might produce after their time together, a bottle she’d slip into the fridge when she arrives at her flat. Somehow she knows that the way to unwind after a session was a nice glass of wine, a simple chat, a smile. Irene always knows exactly what to do, what to say. It’s her profession, Molly supposes, but maybe…

Well, maybe it’s different, with her? Maybe?

Maybe not.

But tonight is something different, she knows. The text message is a clue, and as Irene is fond of saying, brainy is the new sexy. She knows Irene admire her brains as much as other parts of her. She wouldn’t have sent a message like that for her to ponder if she didn’t want her to ponder it.

And then she hears the knock at the door. It’s light but forceful, and she knows it’s her. She sets her glass of wine down and goes to the door, opening it up and seeing Irene there, wearing a coat and heels so high it makes her just a bit taller than her. Not enough to tower, but just enough to give that sense of domination. And then Irene opens the coat and Molly stares in open-mouthed wonder at the beautiful knotted cord around Irene’s naked body. Black nylon cord wound intricately against her creamy porcelain skin, drawing her eyes to certain portions over her anatomy: her pert breasts, the apex of her thighs, her lean legs. She lets her eyes rake in the sight and then sees in her hand more rope and a riding crop.

They’re meant for her tonight, she realizes. For her to use as she pleases.

Tonight, _she_ is the dominatrix.

“Hello, Molly,” Irene says, her voice so soft and almost like a sensual purr than an actual voice. She sets the rope and riding crop in Molly’s outstretched hand and then curled her fingers around them. “I do hope you enjoy my Halloween costume tonight. I picked it out especially for you.”

Molly swallows slightly as Irene steps closer. She knows Irene has a favorite dress of hers, a black dress that fits snugly to her form. Irene had asked once why she didn’t wear it more often and she said she had no place to wear it, and Irene had said to wear it for her. It was their dress now. Normally she took it off for Irene, peeled it off slowly, lowered the zipper and slid the straps off her shoulders to reveal nothing on underneath, leaving her naked under Irene’s penetrating gaze. Irene would walk around, her finger running across Molly’s skin, gliding along the line of her ribs to her hips, dipping into the valley of her breasts, caressing her arse and then moving to the front before slipping in between her legs, a single finger running along her slit to see if she was wet for her.

Just the thought of a normal night between them brought warmth to Molly’s lower regions and she tightens her grip on the cord and the crop. “So tonight, I’m in charge?” she asks.

Irene nods. “Tonight, Molly, I am yours to do with what you please. The rope and the crop are yours to use how you will. Consider this my treat to you. No tricks.” She leans in more, her lips hovering near Molly’s ear. “Unless, of course, you insist.”

She shivers at the thought and then takes her finger and runs it along the intricate knotting, letting it drift over onto Irene’s skin. She’s always so warm. She craves Irene’s warmth, she does, after spending her days around cold bodies. She isn’t quite sure how rope play works, even though they’ve done some of it themselves, because she’s never had anything like this so intricately done on her. But she has a headboard, and there’s enough rope to at least start with something she might be comfortable with.

“Then let’s move this to the bedroom,” Molly says, gesturing towards her bedroom. When Irene heads that way, she moves to the small bowl of candy she’s had just in case she has children coming for candy and sticks it outside her door, switching on the light. If it isn’t there in the morning, so be it. This is vastly more important.

She uncoils the rope and loops it more loosely as she walks to her bedroom, to see Irene sitting at the edge of her bed, legs crossed and showing the red bottoms of her stilettos. She watches her for a moment, taking in the sight of Irene with the coat parted and her perfect breasts on display. Part of her is unsure if tonight will go well; she is usually the one being disciplined, and she knows Irene takes pleasure from that, but tonight she wants...more. She wants to give pleasure in her own way, just as much as she wants to _get_ pleasure. She isn’t sure if that makes sense. She isn’t sure about anything tonight, not really, not while she’s staring at Irene wrapped up in such silky black rope, almost like a pretty present just for her.

Irene gives her a sensual smile. “You’re a bit overwhelmed, aren’t you?” she asks softly.

Molly nods. “Yes.”

“But you want me,” Irene says.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Irene says, standing up, “tonight I am yours for the taking. You are my mistress.” She moves closer. “I will do whatever you want me to do.”

Molly studies her for a moment. “Undress me,” she says quietly. “Then caress me the way you usually do.”

Irene smiles. “You enjoy that part of our evenings together, don’t you?”

“I enjoy being touched by you,” Molly says.

“Then I will touch you as much as you want until you restrain me,” Irene says, moving behind her and reaching for the zipper of her dress. She lowers it slowly, letting another finger trail above the zipper, her nail digging in slightly, trailing along her spine. Molly shudders and bites her lip to keep from moaning out load. When the zipper is all the way down Irene peels one side away, letting her fingertips lightly trail against Molly’s shoulder and arm, and then does so again on the other side.

The dress is still held up in the front by Molly’s breasts, and Irene saunters around to the front, running her fingers along Molly’s collarbone. She gets to the front and peels the dress down, exposing her breasts to the cool air in the room. Her nipples pucker slightly, and Irene takes her fingertips and pinches the nipples lightly on her right breast, rolling them between her fingers. This time Molly does moan as she feels the warmth in her lower regions again.

“You like that,” Irene says.

“I’d rather have your mouth there,” she says, surprised at herself for saying that. But no sooner are the words out than Irene sinks slightly and presses her lips to Molly’s breast, rolling Molly’s nipple around her tongue, and Molly gasps as she grabs Irene’s hair, holding tightly but not pulling. “Oh my God.”

Irene settles her hands on Molly’s waist but no, Molly wants more, she wants her fingers in a more intimate place. She wants Irene’s fingers sliding in the slick wetness that she knows is between her legs and she pulls one of Irene’s hands away, moving it lower towards the bottom of the skirt and then underneath. She can feel Irene smile against her breast and soon there’s a finger sliding against her folds, looking for her clit.

Soon Irene’s mouth is moving to her other breast and her fingers are working their magic, doing things they haven’t done before, giving her a sense of pleasure no man before has done. Molly’s desperately grinding against anything she can when Irene slips a finger inside her, trying to get a release. Oh, this is a sweet torture, it is, the idea that this woman is bringing her to these heights, teasing her and taking her there so slowly. 

“Stop teasing,” Molly says, her voice strained as Irene adds another finger. “I can’t take much more.”

“Do you want me to please you?” Irene asks, pulling her mouth away from her ministrations on Molly’s breast.

“Yes,” she says.

“As you command,” Irene says before sinking to her knees. She hikes the skirt of the dress up to Molly’s waist, spreads Molly’s legs apart a little wider, and then applies her tongue and mouth where her fingers and hand had been and Molly swears her world is about to fly apart. Irene is sucking and licking and oh, it’s all she can do to stand up right now. Her legs are trembling as she feels and orgasm approaching, one of a magnitude she’s never experienced before. 

“Oh my God...” Molly says, nearly screaming in pleasure, reaching down to keep Irene close as she comes, throwing her head back as Irene keeps up her ministrations, riding through the waves of pleasure with her, keeping them going, and Molly’s just panting and when it’s done she wants to collapse but no. No, the night has just started. And there’s still so much more to do, and that coiled nylon and that riding crop to use. And as she looks down at Irene, she realizes that the night could be full of so many more treats for both of them…

**December 24th, 2010**

She picked out her outfit carefully. The dress...the dress meant power. Even if it wasn’t _perfect_ tonight, when she wore it, she felt powerful. Confident. Sexy. And it was all her doing. Black dress and black shoes with a red bottom and red lipstick. Her tribute to The Woman. Her tribute to that night. They’d parted ways that evening, and that was a shame, but Irene had given her something more precious than even she had realized.

And tonight she was going to make use of that gift.

Or so she’d planned.

But it had gone wrong, as usual. Oh, that was always the case. But she’d stood up for herself, so at least there was that. 

And then she heard the ring tone. The moan. She knew it, had never expected to hear it again. Saw the package with the similar knotting. Was hit with the memories of that night. And then she knew she needed a moment to compose herself.

She knows Irene is gone. Won’t be coming back. The night in the morgue confirms it; Sherlock isn’t the _only_ one who can confirm her identity by body alone. She finishes the autopsy, stops off at an all night market to get the same vintage wine she had that night she got her treat, goes home and pours a glass. Goes online and looks up tutorials on how to tie Shibari weaves. And then she goes to the box under her bed where the soft black nylon rope is coiled neatly, where it was left when Molly had gotten it off of Irene so she could touch every inch of skin when she decided to unwrap her treat before Irene left while she was sleeping, and she begins to put the weave on herself.

She’ll learn. One day, she’ll master it herself. And then someone else will get a treat themselves.


End file.
